The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles- Year One

by Ken Lange

  She pursed her lips, giving me the stink eye. “That was terribly unrevealing.” She clucked, finished off her champagne, and waved for the nearest waiter to bring another. “In that case, would you care to tell me what you did that kept you away from this great city for so long?”

  My smile faded. Shaking my head, I set my glass on the table. “I think that falls into the same category as my hand.”

  She quickly picked up two glasses. “That category being the one you don’t want to talk about?”

  I touched my finger to my nose. “Correct.”

  Her wry grin reappeared. “You’re definitely different than most of the men I know.”

  “And how’s that?”

  Heather’s smile turned devilish, and she shook her hair, allowing her sultry eyes to find mine. “You’re not tripping over yourself to please me.”

  That wasn’t hard to believe. She had a face, body, and attitude that would melt most men. In a different world, I might’ve been one of them, but my sins were far too great to be casually shared. “And this pleases you, I take it.”

  She set her glass down with a snort. “God, yes. There’s something so appealing about a man with a spine.”

  The way she looked me over made me feel naked. Needless to say, I liked it. A lot. But she was drunk, and whatever was on her mind wasn’t going to happen. Looking down at my watch, I considered the time and her sobriety. “Where do you live?”

  The smile that crossed her lips spoke of passion. Waving a languid arm toward St. Charles, she cooed, “I’m only a few blocks away.” She chewed her bottom lip in anticipation. “What’s on that mind of yours?”

  Shaking my head, I said, “Nope.” I held my hand out in her direction. “If you were sober, we would be having a very different conversation.” Still, the thought of being twisted naked in her sheets swam through my mind. “Save whatever it is you’re thinking about until you’re single and sober.”

  Her eyes lit up, and the smile on her face couldn’t have spoken more clearly if she’d used a thousand words. “I’ve never been turned down before.” She pushed her chair back and waved me ahead of her. “I’m either far more drunk than I thought or I really like it. Either way, I’m good with it.”

  I’d probably kick myself tomorrow, but the thought of taking advantage of a woman who was angry at one man and tipsy, at the very least, made me feel dirty. And not in the fun way.

  She suddenly frowned, reached for her glass, and pounded it back. “As for Brad…you don’t need to concern yourself with him. The man is more in love with my father than me. He wouldn’t come to the wedding at the last second because he thought it would make our ‘relationship’ too serious.” She grimaced, grabbed the second flute, and took another drink. “He and my father may still have something going on, but as far as the two of us are concerned, we were over before we started.”

  I put my arm out to steady her before walking us toward the gate. “Let’s get you home, and perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.”

  She looked back at the band again as she leaned her warm, soft body against mine and smiled. “I think today was pretty damn nice.”

  I rested my head against the top of hers for the briefest of moments. “It’s been a very nice evening.”

  She nuzzled against me before pulling herself fully upright and waving a delicate hand at the gate. “Our chariot awaits!”

  Just a few feet from the gate, the exotic scent of jasmine nearly overwhelmed me. It made me cough and my nose itch in irritation. “Do you smell that?”

  Heather sniffed the air curiously and turned to me with a blank look. “McDonald’s?”

  How could she not smell that? “Nothing else?”

  She took another deep breath. “Just New Orleans…” She giggled. “What’s up?”

  With the next breath, my stomach rolled and threatened to revolt at the putrid odor. “It’s like jasmine gone bad.”

  She looked around and made a face as she shook her head in mock disbelief. “You sure you haven’t been drinking?”

  Frowning, I waved her ahead of me. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  She tugged at my arm and leaned against me. “You’re in an awful hurry to get me home and not do anything about it.”

  I blushed. “That may be true, but I’d like to get you home nonetheless.”

  The off-duty policemen working the wedding detail waved us through, telling us to have a good night. All the while, the smell got stronger. I didn’t know why, but the scent had put all my senses on high alert.

  The quiet thud of soft-soled shoes rapidly pounding the sidewalk behind us echoed in my head. My body tensing, I grabbed Heather and swung her around me, holding her at arm’s length, which allowed me to spin and face the runner. The Asian man barreling our way was barely five feet tall. The officer reached out for him, but the runner ducked and planted a palm in the man’s chest that sent him sprawling through the open gate. There he landed hard on his back, slapping his head against the black stone walkway with a sickening crack.

  The Asian man seemed at odds with himself, moving like a young man but appearing to be in his mid- to late sixties. His bald head gleamed in the moonlight, and his focus was on Heather. Increasing his speed, he pulled out a silver dagger.

  He hadn’t anticipated Heather being moved several feet out of reach, and his blade pierced my coat and shirt, allowing its razor-sharp edge to leave a long shallow gash across my ribs. The warm blood trickling down my side was annoying and a little itchy. Slamming the ridge of my hand against the man’s throat, I lifted him off the ground, propelling him back several feet.

  He was unarmed now, the dagger seemingly vanishing from sight, but I hadn’t heard it hit the ground. It was more important to handle the man who’d wielded it, though, than figure out where it had gone.

  He fell back gracefully, pulling his knees up, rolling over his shoulders and neck back to his feet, prepared for a fight. He was dazed and slow, however, which was bad news for him. I sped toward him in a low footballer’s stance, and he kicked out, landing a foot hard against my shoulder.

  He wasn’t heavy enough to slow me down, and I grabbed the leg. Catching sight of the fence, I changed tactics. Standing upright, I pulled his leg along with me, and gave it a nasty twist. His ankle and knee snapped before I wrenched the appendage out of its socket at the hip.

  He screamed. Releasing the useless bit of meat, I drove my fist into his jaw, and he did a pirouette. I kicked out, and my boot caught him in the back of the head. The little man free-fell face-first onto the wrought iron fence. The force of the blow working in unison with gravity did the rest of the work for me. A black iron fleur-de-lis erupted from the back of the man’s skull, causing him to convulse in an oddly rhythmic fashion for several seconds. Finally, the twitching stopped, and he slumped against the fence with his knees on the sidewalk, resembling a gruesome prayer to an uncaring god.

  The world sprang back to life, with people screaming, being sick, and scattering in all directions. Two more off-duty police officers joined their friend, helping him to his feet.

  It occurred to me that Heather wasn’t where I’d left her. My stomach did flip-flops as I scanned the area and found Kim cradling Heather’s prone form. Kimberly told her to be still before she carefully removed the silver blade from her stomach. Once it was out, she tossed it onto the pavement, where it clanked noisily before skidding to a stop against the curb at a weird angle.

  Anger welled inside me, and as I stepped off the sidewalk, I slammed my boot into the dagger. It snapped in two with a loud pop and a large, bright green spark that made everyone jump.

  Kim was applying pressure to her daughter’s wound, and Heather shivered, sweat pouring off her forehead. I took a knee, placed an arm under Heather and my hand over her wound.

  Kim offered me a curt nod before pulling a phone out of her clutch and dialing 911. “This is Kimberly Broussard. There’s been a stabbing at the Elms Mansion on St. Charles. I need an
ambulance dispatched straight away, and our destination is Touro.” She paused for the operator’s answer then hung up and dialed another number. “Robert…Heather’s been injured. Gut wound. Prep the OR, and be ready. We’ll be there shortly.” She paused again as sirens howled in the background. “I’ve got to go. The ambulance should be here any minute.”

  She ended the call, looked at me, and pulled back my jacket to reveal my blood-soaked shirt. “You’ve been hurt.”

  I shrugged. “It’s minor.” I looked down at Heather, who was swimming in and out of consciousness. “Will she be all right?”

  Kim’s face twisted in fear. “I’m not sure, but the knife wasn’t too deep.” She grimaced as she looked at her daughter’s stomach. “It can go either way.”

  I’d seen enough gut wounds over the years to know that she was right. People could get treatment right away but still go septic and die.

  The paramedics came to a screeching halt next to us, and the first EMT jumped out and tried to muscle his way between Kim and Heather. “Excuse us, ma’am, we need to get in here.” He glared at me. “You’ll need to step back as well.”

  I gently laid Heather back, allowing the man to take my place.

  Kimberly glowered at the man. “You don’t recognize me because I’m not in scrubs today, but I know you.” The man shook his head. “I’m the head nurse for Touro, and in case the dispatcher didn’t inform you, that’s our destination.”

  The officer who’d been shoved to the ground was checking for the Asian man’s pulse. The large iron spike sticking through the back of his head should’ve been his first clue that the guy was dead.

  I was getting to my feet when two of the officers came up with their hands on their pistols. The bigger of the two officers looked down at Heather then back at me. “We need to speak with you in private.”

  They were poised for a fight, so I just nodded and held my hands out so they could see them. “All right.”

  Kim whirled on the officers, wagging a finger at them. “You’re really going to harass a man who was nearly killed by someone you should’ve seen coming?” She gave him a withering look and held out a hand in my direction. “Don’t say a word. I’ve got to make a call.” Glaring at the officer, she growled, “You’ll want to answer your cell when it rings.”

  She strode off and got in the back of the ambulance with one hand on her daughter and another holding the phone to her ear, leaving me to be escorted into the main house, where I was handcuffed and deposited in the Louis XVI room. One of the officers stood at the door, while the other two attended to the mess outside.

  I’d bled through my shirt and jacket and was sitting in blood-soaked pants—which, you can imagine, is hugely comfortable. Plus, the manager was going to be pissed about the bloodstains on the upholstered white furniture. The cut wasn’t too deep, but I’d probably need a couple of stitches. I couldn’t tell how many, since I wasn’t about to inspect the wound, given the situation. I’d also either gotten used to the blood trickling down my chest, or it had stopped. I was hoping for the latter, which would mean fewer stitches. At this point, however, it was never going to close properly since it wasn’t being tended to right away.

  A few minutes later, the officer standing guard jumped when his phone rang. He fumbled in his pocket before retrieving it.

  “Hello?” He paused. “Yes, sir… I know, but—” He looked back at me and shook his head. “Yeah, he’s hurt too, but I—” He held the phone away from his ear as a crackling and squeaky voice said things I couldn’t understand. “I’ll tend to it right away.” He paused and put his ear back to the phone. “It’s cut and dried… I saw the whole thing, but we couldn’t— Yes, sir. I’ll make sure I apologize.” He glowered at me, shaking his head, letting me know that wasn’t going to happen. “Thank you, sir. I’ll file the paperwork before I leave for the night.”

  He stalked over to me, pulling out a set of keys. “Hands.” I happily complied, and he removed the cuffs. “You’ll need to have someone look at that.” He pointed at my chest. “I’m not calling an ambulance for you. If it was that bad, you would’ve said something earlier.”

  Rubbing my wrists, I stood and nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t piss the guy off further. “Stay safe tonight.”

  I retrieved my phone and dialed my uncle. It didn’t take me long to fill him in on the evening’s events. He wasn’t pleased about my plan to retrieve Heather’s car and drop it off at the hospital, but there wasn’t shit he could do to stop me. Of course, I omitted the fact that I’d been injured, and told him to stay put. He needed to remain safe at home so I’d have some time to make sense of the events of the last hour.

  After arriving at the hospital, I ducked into the nearest bathroom and pulled up my shirt. To my surprise, the six-inch gash had closed on its own. It was still tender, and downright painful if I touched it, but it was closed. That made things considerably simpler.

  A few hours later, Kim came out to speak with me. She’d changed out of her dress and was wearing surgical scrubs. She looked tired but steady. “It appears she’s going to be all right, thanks to you.” Craning her neck, she looked at my chest. “Did you get that looked at?”

  I gingerly got to my feet then mustered up my most reassuring voice. “Yeah, all put back together. Everything will be fine.”

  Clearly distracted by her daughter, she patted me on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll let her know you were here.”

  I fished Heather’s keys out of my pocket and handed them to Kim. “I parked it in the garage on level 3.”

  Kim dropped the keys into her shirt pocket and nodded. “Thanks.”

  She waved before turning and trekking through the ER doors. It was late, and I needed some time to think. Which meant I was walking home instead of hailing a taxi.

  Chapter 11

  Monday June 1st

  The gentle breeze out of the north brought a welcome dip in the temperature. While the walk back to Andrew’s place wasn’t a long one, it did give me some time to myself. That was something that hadn’t happened recently. It had been an eventful few days, to say the least, and putting one foot in front of the other had always helped me place things in perspective.

  It was nearly 3:00 a.m. when I turned onto my uncle’s block. My senses were dialed to eleven, and I felt rather than saw someone standing in the shadow of the hedge at the far corner.

  Keeping my pace slow and steady, I approached the gate that led into the front yard. About ten yards out, I came to a stop and gave a small wave. “You might as well step out, so we can have a proper conversation.”

  Rubber soles scraped against the cement, followed quickly by the click of metal as a short, portly man shuffled out of the darkness into the light of a nearby streetlamp. His greasy blond hair was in need of washing, and it was a good thing he had numerous freckles, since they were the only thing that gave his round face character.

  Wheezing, he wiped the sweat off his forehead as he leaned heavily on the black wooden cane in his pudgy hand. When he spoke, his heavy French, or possibly Cajun, accent only magnified his condescending tone. “I’ve been sent to speak with you.”

  Allowing my senses to expand, I prepared myself for whatever might come next. “And you are?”

  The fat man huffed, and blotchy red patches appeared on his face. “Who I am is of little importance. What I’m here to offer, however…”

  In that moment, my attention focused on the black swirling mass forming at the tip of his walking stick.

  Taking a deep breath, I adjusted my stance and waved for him to continue. “I’m listening.”

  Slowly, I moved a few steps closer. It was clear he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  His lips stretched in a forced smile, showing his mismatched, uneven teeth. “My employer would like to double whatever offer Mr. Randall has on the table, for you to walk away.”

  Interesting. Whoever was behind all this had no idea who I was—and I wasn’t about to i
nform them. “Really?”

  The man was all too eager to mistake my question for agreement. He nodded frantically, and his jowls slapped against his formless neck. “Name a price, any price, and you can be on your way before you get any further into something you can’t get out of.”

  The strange whirling shadows were about the size of a softball now.

  “Out of curiosity, what has Mr. Randall gotten me into?”

  Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, and he spewed spittle with every word. “Your kind couldn’t possibly understand.” Anger flashed in his eyes as impatience seemed to get the better of him. “How much for you to walk away?” He paused for dramatic effect. “While you still can.”

  The now-familiar itch in the back of my brain appeared, and fury coursed through me. I forced calm and took another couple of steps toward him, pretending to contemplate the offer. “How much would it be worth to you to have me gone?”

  His face reddened, and his voice quivered. “You’re nothing but a goddamn monkey, and you dare negotiate with me?”

  Mumbling something in what sounded like Latin, he lifted the cane a fraction of an inch off the ground before slamming it down. The whirling ball of shadows shot toward me as it expanded, and exploded against my chest with enough force to rock me back onto my heels. Darkness enveloped me as thousands of tiny things slithered over my flesh. The malevolent energy emanating from them turned my stomach. Then almost as suddenly as it had hit me, it faded then vanished in countless puffs of smoke.

  The fat man’s eyes bulged when he saw me standing there unscathed. I sprinted forward, gripped his shirt at the collar and twisted as I lifted him off the ground. I wasn’t sure if it was shock or the lack of air that kept him from crying out as his cane clattered to the pavement.